“Mommy, look,” he gasped, his chest heaving as he stared at Ellie, who had just walked back onto the patio with a pitcher of iced tea.
“What is it, Will?” I asked, bending down to peel his sticky fingers from my skirt.
He did not look at me, his eyes wide and locked on my childhood best friend.
“Daddy is there,” he said, his high voice ringing out clearly over the sound of the crickets in the grass.
Brad stopped moving the tongs, the metal clicking once against the side of the grill.
“What are you talking about, buddy?” Brad asked, his voice dry and forced as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I am right here by the fire.”
Will shook his head, his face completely serious as only a four-year-old can be.
“No,” Will said, his small hand rising to point.
His tiny finger pointed directly at the hem of Ellie’s loose green blouse.
“He probably wants a cupcake, Marla,” Ellie said, her voice dropping into that sweet, forced tone she used when she wanted to soothe someone. “Kids say the silliest things when they are hungry.”
“He does not want a cupcake,” I said, my eyes tracking the line of Will’s finger to the fabric of her shirt, which had bunched slightly near her ribs as she held the pitcher.
“Let us just cut the cake,” Brad said, his voice tense as he stepped away from the grill. “The kids are getting restless.”
But Will did not drop his arm, his small hand remaining steady, his finger pointing straight at the green cotton.
“He means the cartoon on my shirt, sweetie,” Ellie said, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to laugh. “It is just a drawing.”
“There is no drawing on the outside of your shirt, Ellie,” I said, my hand going back to my wedding ring, turning the cold metal over and over.
